Ice and Fire: Total War
by Trap3r
Summary: The Others, long thought dead by the races of men, have returned to eradicate all morality. The Dragonborn hero of Skyrim, Anslaf Delmar, known as the Blackwolf, must now unite the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and find and train the 'Azor Ahai' of prophecy. He will need allies from both Tamriel and this new land, for there are those who would love nothing more than total war.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Nirn. The home of various sentient races and nations. Its peoples are capable of great compassion, and great violence. From the Empire and it's legions that protect the overwhelming majority of the continent of Tamriel, to the feudal and squabbling Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and the city-states of Essos. The dangers facing the mortals are many, coming from both within their own ranks, and from without. One such threat, that should have never been forgotten, has been turned into myth and folklore, dismissed by the world as fables, myths, or long extinct.

A fool's sure mark is to dismiss anything that falls outside his individual experience as an impossibility.

For eight thousand years, they waited. Some say they are demons, Daedra, of Ice and cold. Others are not so sure. Whatever the case may be, they waited, patiently planning their vengeance against the races of men and mer. And their timing could not be more perfect, for the world stands upon the edge of a knife. Westeros stands on the brink of a devastating civil war. Two mighty superpowers in Tamriel vie for supremacy in a cold war, while several regional powers turn a blind eye. The Free Cities are fortifying their defenses, as one of the largest Dorthraki _Khalessars_ in history, over forty thousand strong, gathers under the leadership of the fierce Khal Drogo. And Akavir remains oddly silent.

They are coming.

They are eager.

And when they arrive, there will be nothing short of total war.


	2. Anslaf I

**Hey, Trap3r here! As I said before, I'm putting Serenity of the Force aside to work on this story that's been fermenting in my head for quite a while now. I got it a while back while reading similar stories on FanFiction and thought. "Hey, why not add my own?" So, here is my little piece. And yes, George R. R. Martin is probably frothing at the mouth because I'm writing this. Oh well.**

* * *

Anslaf I

13 First Seed 4E 204/ 298 AL: Lakeview Manor, Skyrim

The birds outside Lakeview Manor chirped as the sun rose over the Velothi Mountains to the east, signaling a new day. Anslaf Delmar woke up groggly, sitting up and stretching as he yawned. He looked over to his right, where his wife of two years, Serana, slept peacefully. He smiled, and leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek, then got up to get ready for the day. He went over to the wardrobe and slipped on a pair of pants, an undershirt, and a pair of shoes, and went to check on his children in the other room. There, his two beautiful infant twins, Anna and Aldrich, slept soundly, barely making a sound, save from a very tired sounding yawn from Aldrich. He didn't notice his wife slide up alongside him until she rested her head on his shoulder.

She always was as silent as a cat.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" She softly purred into his ear, while her hands gripped each other around his chest.

"As beautiful as the mother who bore them." He said back, kissing his wife's ebony hair while caressing her right shoulder.

"And as handsome as the father who gave seed to them." She replied. It was true, the twins both inherited their father's dirt brown hair, and their mother's emerald green eyes. At that moment, little Anna woke up, and was apparently hungry, for she began crying. Her brother must have sensed her, for he began to do the same.

"Well duty calls." Serana sighed as she went over to the cribs and picked the twins up, one in each arm.

Anslaf flashed her a quick smile before heading out. On his way out the door, he noticed Lydia coming off shift, her eyes baggy, and heading off to her bed, while Calder came and relived her.

"Is Erik already outside?" Anslaf asked Calder.

"Aye. He's been working on his sword work, my Thane." The red-haired man replied

"Really, how's he been doing?" Anslaf said, while watching his apprentice strike a dummy target with his Skyforge-made steel claymore, a gift from Eoruland Grey-Mane.

"He's been doing better and better. Actually managed to nearly best Rayya in a practice duel." Calder pointed out.

"She's one of our best swords!" Anslaf exclaimed, feeling a measure of pride for Erik, who had come a long way from the farm-bound youth he knew from two years ago. A grin crept on to his face, and he went back inside. A moment later, he reappeared, brandishing his ebony longsword.

"Hey, Erik!" He called out to the boy of seventeen, who stopped hitting the practice dummy.

"Yeah?" He called back to the older man of twenty-five, sweat on his brow, covered in a loose shirt, pants, and boots.

"Why don't you try swinging your blade at a live target?" The elder man challenged amusingly, his sword already in a low ready position. Erik grinned. "Alright, old man. Be careful, wouldn't want you to break a hip."

"Careful, young one." Anslaf playfully reprimanded, while they began circling each other. "This old dog still has a few tricks left in him."

Erik made the first move, swinging his claymore in an upward-right arc. Anslaf quickly blocked the strike, then thrusted his longsword, which Erik parried and carried out a spinning slash, which Anslaf rolled out of the way. They both got back into their ready positions.

"Your skills are improving." Anslaf complimented. "A year ago I would have disarmed you by now."

"Thank you." Erik said back, his pride now soaring. The two duelists took one step toward another, but before they could continue, a familiar roar pierced the sky.

The roar of a Dragon.

Quickly, Anslaf began scanning the skies, a little bit frustrated that a Dragon wanted to show up when he had settled down in his new family life as a substance farmer. His frustration quickly went away when he saw who it was.

"Odahviing, _dii wuth fahdon_. What news do you bring from the _Monahven_?" He asked the red dragon, whom he had captured and released two years ago during his quest to find and destroy Alduin, the World-Eater. He then noticed Odahviing's demeanor. He was alert, worried even.

"Odahviing, what's wrong? Has something happened to Paarthurnax?" Anslaf asked, fearing that Delphine might have broken her oath to him after all and set out to kill the old dragon.

"_Niid, Dovahkiin_." The dragon replied, although his tone sounded urgent. "But he has requested your presence, and yours alone. Only you are to come with me." Odahviing urged.

Anslaf sighed, unhappy he was going to be taken away from his family for a few days, if not longer, depending on the severity of this. "Let me tell Serana about this." He finally stated, after mulling it over. He went inside the manor, and after a few moments, came back out, and fitted in his custom ebony black wolf armor that gave him his nickname, "Blackwolf", given to him by Euroland after he and Erik had saved the Harbinger's life at Knifepoint ridge. He also had his ebony crossbow and shield slung over his back, his sword sheathed on his right, and his dagger on the left. He mounted Odahviing, and looked at Erik.

"Help her out while I'm gone." Anslaf simply stated, before Odaviing lifted off, and toward the great mountain to the north east.

* * *

It was bitterly cold on the mountain peak, doubly so with the wind. That being said, it was a good thing Anslaf was of Nordic blood, able to keep warm in such conditions wearing only a simple black fur cloak along with his armor, whereas other men would have to wear heavy furs and clothes just too even eke out a survival. But the cold wasn't on his mind at this moment; it was why Paarthurnax had summoned him up here in the first place.

"_Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin_. I am sorry to have summoned you here so suddenly, but the matter is most dire." The Grandmaster of the Greybeards said, his voice lined with worry and trepidation.

"_Krosis, mid fahdon_, but what threat is it of you speak?" Anslaf asked, then added almost fearfully, "Has Alduin returned?"

"_Niid_. But this is a grave threat. Tell me, what do you know of Westeros?"

"Westeros? You mean the continent to the east of Tamriel?" Anslaf was just as educated as anybody else on geography. The Empire and the Seven Kingdoms had long had good ties, unlike the cold relations Tamriel had with its west-bound neighbor, Akavir. The reason could've been because the two continents sat closer together, almost as close as the distance between Westeros and Essos.

"Yes. Ages ago, in that continent, back when the dov ruled _Tazokaan_, men and elves had settled there. Prosperous and peaceful was their rule, until the day Molag Bal decided to seduce a group of the mortals into his servitude. In exchange for their _sille_, he promised them _lot sulyek_, great power. Their skins and eyes became the palest shade of blue, their hides became like armor, their weapons hardened ice, and they began to practice the foul art of necromancy. They were elves and men no longer; they became only known as 'the Others'. They waged war against the joorre, hoping to claim the continent for themselves, but they underestimated their resolve. The Atmorans of that time, called the First Men by the Westerosi, fought back with righteousness and fury, and drove them back to the northern half of _Westsaan_, before the one they call the Builder erected a mighty wall, inhumed with magic wards, to keep the Others out of the realm."

"Do you think the Others are returning?" Anslaf inquired.

"With certainty." The old dragon replied. "I have flown to the continent when not training my fellow dov, and I have seen them, and the one who leads them. They are gathering an army of spiders and draugr, to invade the Seven Kingdoms, and ultimately the rest of the world, in order to claim Nirn for their _vul in_, dark master. And their timing could not be more perfect."

"What do you mean?" the Nord asked.

"The Westerosi are divided as of now. Tensions are mounting in the Seven Kingdoms, as the King is increasingly blind to the threats around him, both without and within. Their force for the Wall, the Night's Watch, as they are called, are undermanned and undersupplied, and ignored."

"Well, doesn't this sound familiar?" Anslaf laughed bitterly. "What do I need to do?" He asked his old friend.

"You must go to Westeros and do two things. First, you must convince them of the threat. I have no doubt you can convince at least some of them. Secondly, you must find a figure of _qoustiid_, prophecy, written by the Valaryian dovah, Vedkreinyol, named 'The Azor Ahai', the prince who was promised. It reads 'There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.'

"Well, not as vague as other prophecies I've heard." Anslaf stated sarcastically. "But if I am going to Westeros, I need allies, both without and within. And if things go south, like I expect them to, I'll need an army behind my back." He thought for a moment. "I'll get ready and head out in for Westeros in a months' time. I'll get whatever friends in the guilds I have to meet me at Lakeview. And I'm going to the Imperial City."

* * *

**One Week Later, Imperial City, Cyrodiil**

"This is outrageous! Why should we send an army to foreign soils when we have the Thalmor at our door?" the Orc councilman yelled at the top of his lungs. The Elder Council, the legislative body of the Empire, was in special session today, at the request of the Dragonborn and Emperor Antonius Mede I.

"Councilor Groznach brings up a valid point, Dragonborn." The thirty-three year old Emperor stated. "We can't send a large army or fleet anywhere without risking weakening our defenses across the border."

"And the Thalmor would most certainly know of a larger army leaving Cyrodiil within the fortnight." General Tullius added in. Since the aftermath of the Skyrim Civil War, he was promoted to Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military.

"How many available troops do we have?" Anslaf asked the council, praying for at least an auxiliary regiment.

"Not many." The Imperial Grand Battlemage, a middle-aged female Breton named Cacia Pierre stated. "Like the others have stated, most of our strength is currently preparing for Dominion attack. Especially since our Emperor here decided to rip up the Concordat in front of Grand Lord Ondalrith himself." Anslaf had heard about that. Apparently Titus Mede II had not been the fool that the Dominion and others had taken him to be, and had spent the thirty years he had to endure as a supposed Thalmor lackey rebuilding the Imperial Army and secretly constructing a huge new fleet at the Iliac Bay. After Titus' death, his son Antonius had continued to do so, along with trying, and succeeding, to get Hammerfell back into the fold. Now after thirty years, the Imperial Military was actually above the operational strength it had at the beginning of the Great War, and very near what they had before the Oblivion Crisis. Still, it came as no surprise that the Dominion was doing the same, fortifying their border defenses in Elswyer and Valenwood while increasing the naval patrols in the Summerset Sea. And on top of that, apparently the Emperor had invited the Grand Lord over to the Imperial City for dinner, and there took out the official copy of the White-Gold Concordat, and ripped it to shreds in front of Ondalrith. It was small wonder that Antonius and the Council wanted most of the Army to remain in Tamriel; two superpowers now stood at the brink of all out conflict.

"Nothing you can spare at all?" He repeated. Antonius thought for a moment, then began to talk with his Redguard Chancellor, Iman, and the rest of the Council, in hushed tones. Finally, after much deliberating amongst themselves, they fell silent, and Anslaf awaited the verdict, which the Emperor delivered.

"It has come to our decision that we will help you in your quest, Dragonborn. But we cannot offer a truly significant fighting force either. We can only spare one legion and two auxiliary regiments in your cause. The rest will be tied up with the threat of another war with the Dominion." Anslaf was elated.

"That's better than I had hoped for. So who can you spare?"

"We can spare the Ninth Legion, _Legio IX Bretonnia_, under the command of Legate Decius Julius Maximus. And the two auxiliary regiments attached to him, so you'll have an additional fifteen thousand men in your little party. " Tullius stated gruffly. "Congratulations." He said as an afterthought.

Anslaf stopped for a moment to consider this particularly harrowing thought. Fifteen thousand men and women, all volunteers, were going to be told to pack up out of their castles and fortresses and camps, travel about two and a half thousand miles on twenty-five Imperial frigates along with the Dragonborn and his entourage of twenty, a trip that took a month and a half, to potentially fight and die in a foreign land quite possibly no one cared for, and never getting to see home again. But he needed these men, he was practically diving into the unknown here, and what you didn't know often killed you. The Emperor interrupted his thought process.

"Then it's settled then. In the name of the Dragon Throne, I hereby authorize Anslaf Delmar, known as the Blackwolf, the use of the Ninth Legion and its auxiliary regiments, in his quest." He turned to his aide. "Send a messenger bird to Legate Maximus in Fort Picard with his new marching orders. Tell him he is to meet the Dragonborn with his men at the Iliac Bay dockyards in a fortnight from tomorrow. Send another bird to Admiral Flavius Crassus at those dockyards, tell him to dispatch a naval squadron of twenty-five ships exactly, enough to feed and hold fifteen thousand men for a two month journey. Godspeed to you and your quest dragonborn, and carry the blessings of the Elder Council." Chancellor Iman stood up. "Councilors, this session is now adjourned. _Gloria Imperium_!" he stated.

"_Gloria Imperium!_"

Anslaf walked out the great doors and through the city streets. As he walked toward Odahviing, he sighed, and mumbled out half-glad, half sullenly.

"_Gloria Imperium_."

* * *

**Aaaaaaaaand, we are off! Yeah, I wanted to keep this somewhat realistic, since obliviously they aren't going to let him make off with about four legions (of about 5,400 legionaries on average, 6,000 is the max.) and eight 5,000 man auxiliary regiments, due to increased tensions with the Thalmor. That being said, even a smaller, 15,000 force of Imperial soldiers has a distinct advantage against anything the 7Ks can throw at them, namely better tactics, training, and finer quality equipment. But I digress. Next Chapter, Anslaf and his crew of misfits meet the battle hardened Decius and his Ninth Legion, and set off to the land of political games and rampant corruption.**


	3. Decius I

**Hello, again! This chapter is going to focus on the veteran Legate Decius Julius Maximus and the Ninth Legion. Now, if your wandering why I don't use the term 'General' for him, here's why; Legates, in the Roman era, were the commanders of the legions themselves. A General was usually in command of two or more legions at a time. I guess Bethesda wanted to throw some familiar terms our way, but I'm a sucker for Roman accuracy. Anyway, here it is.**

* * *

Decius I

**27 First Seed, 4E 204/298 AL, Iliac Bay Dockyards, Wayrest, High Rock.**

Legate Decius Julius Maximus, was by all rights, one of the most battle-hardened commanders in the entire Empire, an excellent tactician and a keen strategist. His Ninth Legion, which was currently standing in formation with the Second and Fourth Auxiliary Regiments on the parade field, was one of the best in the Empire, led by veterans of the Great War and the Stormcloak Rebellion, and gruelingly trained to the point of near perfection.

So why was this up-jumped 'Blackwolf' getting permission from the Emperor to take him and his Legion away to the ass end of the world when the big war was, almost certainly, about to kick off between his beloved Empire and those barbarians clad in elven armor and false courtesies?

Honestly, Decius didn't know, and frankly it did no use bitching about it, either. His orders had come from the Emperor and the Supreme Commander themselves. So all he had to do now was carry out his orders, and sail with the Dragonborn to Westeros to act as backup in case things went to Oblivion in a hand basket.

And they always did, too. First rule of warfare; no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.

His second-in-command, Prefect Herman Adler, a big, grey-haired brute of a Nord whose no-nonsense personality and strict disciplinarian views helped shape up new recruits who didn't know one end of a _gladius_ from another into highly trained and disciplined soldiers, snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Sir, the Dragonborn and his entourage are here." He said, looking over Decius' shoulder. Decius turned and saw a group of fifteen well-armed men and women, led by a Nord in ebony armor that was modeled after the style of the Companions.

"Ah, so you must be the Blackwolf." Decius stated as he walked up to the man and took his measure of him as he shook his hand. His grip was firm, indicating he was a professional, and more importantly to him, not some effeminate wannabe noble. His eyes were of the deepest blue, piercing, yet friendly.

"Legate Maximus, a pleasure to meet you." The Blackwolf spoke, a slight northern tilt to his accent. "Please, though. Call me Anslaf."

"Anslaf." Decius nodded, then let go off his hand and faced his troops. He nodded to Herman, who yelled in his gruff, Nordic accent.

"Legion!"

Echoing cries of "Cohort!" among the tribunes could be heard a split second after.

"Atten-TION!"

Immediately, every legionary and auxiliary snapped to attention as one, having drilled this over and over countless times. A large cry amongst the ranks went out, loud enough to shake the buildings.

"ANVIL!"

Herman then performed an about face, and saluted Decius when he came up to him.

"The legion is yours to address sir." He said as Decius returned the salute.

"At ease." He commanded, as his men sort of relaxed from the rigid position of attention into the less rigid position of at ease. Decius, the fifty-two year old legate with tan skin and black hair that was starting to grey, spoke, clearly, crisply, and concisely.

"Men, we are about to embark in a few hours on a trip to Westeros, aboard a few of Admiral Crassus' ships that he let us borrow. I know not what awaits us in this foreign land, for none of us have ever been to Westeros. That being said, our mission is not to combat any enemy as of yet. Our mission is however to act as backup to the Dragonborn in case things turn sour over there. I know none of you particularly want to go to some backwater kingdom on the other side of the ocean. Believe me, I feel as if were better off here, too. But we have a duty to the Emperor, to the Divines, and to the Empire, to aid the Dragonborn in his quest. I hope most, if not all of you, have made your goodbyes and farewells to your loved ones, for there isn't going to be any fanfare for your departure, nor for our return, if we ever do. And if we do, we'll be most likely facing another war. That being said, I'd rather have you here, brave legionaries and auxiliaries to a man and woman, than sticking it out alone. For if it does come to battle, I know you will stand alongside me, fighting the enemy with courage and honor. Now, the Dragonborn would like to speak to you."

Decius stepped back to allow Anslaf to speak, while paying close attention to what he had to say.

"I am Anslaf Delmar, Thane of Whiterun, and the Dragonborn. I have battled innumerable foes, such as Dragons, vampires, monsters, and those pointy-ear pricks we know as Thalmor." A few laughs were heard among the soldiers. "Like Legate Decius here, I know not of what awaits us in this land, but from what my colleagues told me here, they are socially backwards and suspicious of foreigners. I know that none of you particularly are keen on going to a new place, but I will not step in and tell you what to do; that is the job of your commanders, I'm just there to make sure they stop playing their political games long enough to tackle the real threat. And if it includes us making a show of force, then by Akatosh's balls, we'll give those scum suckers Oblivion!" A few hoots and hollers went up, as Ansalf turned it back to Decius.

"Men, you are dismissed. Prepare to board your asses and equipment on those boats. We leave in two hours. Fall out!"

The soldiers fell out of formation and started to set on the task at hand, getting everything ready and packed up to head out onto the ships.

* * *

**Two months later…**

The twenty-five ship naval squadron, made up of ten galleons, ten frigates, and five ships-of-the-line, were now past Tamriel, and in the middle of the Pandomaic Ocean, still about half a month away from their destination, a medium-sized island about a hundred miles west from the coast of northern Westeros. Decius was on the Admiral's flagship, the largest ship in the fleet, with a century of his vanguard cohort and all of the Dragonborn's entourage, whom he had gotten to know well in the span of two months. There were his housecarls, seven of them in total, a few members of the College of Winterhold, about five members of the Thieves' Guild he had taken along for intelligence gathering and 'in case we need to steal an enemy's plans', as he put it, and one fellow from the Dark Brotherhood he had brought along, a young Breton female with the unusual name of Syrenne, to advise him on the nature of any assassins' guilds they might run across. Decius honestly didn't mind the presence of the thieves, as long as the kept their hands to themselves. The assassin though…

Decius had brought it up to Anslaf before, who told him that the Brotherhood had owed him a few favors after he had paid the bail for Syrenne after she tried to kill him. So Decius had let it slide. That didn't mean he had to trust her, however. Currently, Decius was going over plans in the ships war room with Anslaf, Syrenne, Colette Marence, Erik the Slayer, Prefect Alder, and Vladimir the Strong.

"Prefect, I need a status report on the men." Decius commanded.

"Sir, we are at one hundred percent capacity. Five and a half thousand legionaries, two thousand auxiliary heavy cavalry, two thousand auxiliary archers and crossbowmen, four thousand auxiliary infantry, five hundred mages, ten trebuchets, ten onagers, and twenty ballistae are all accounted for. We are adequate on food, water, and we have winter equipment on hand."

"Good, good." He turned to the dark brown haired Breton. "What kind of threats are out there? Any assassin groups I should worry about?"

"Asides from the sloppy unprofessional, there is one group, though their based in Braavos, on the northwest tip of Essos. They call themselves 'The Faceless Men'; I've dealt with a few of them before. They eschew their own identities, and are fanatical worshippers of Death, even we aren't all that crazy. That fanaticism works their way into their contracts, too. For example, for the life of a noble, they demand the life of your child as payment to Death. It's far cheaper in Westeros just to hire a good sized mercenary company instead of hiring them out." She replied, chewing over another thought before adding. "Oh, and they usually have a thing for making their kills look like accidents. They only will slit someone's throat if they are in a hurry or time is of the essence." Decius nodded, then turned to Colette, one of the wizards from the College. "Do you sense any magicka with this place? Do you know of any mages that reside in Westeros?"

Colette sighed. "Legate, the first thing to understand about this continent is that the magicka is present, but it's passive. Mostly from what I've heard, all of it is concentrated in the ward protection at the Wall. As for mages there, the answer is a flat no. People in that country have long forgotten to wield magic at all, and any sort of magical creature or Daedra is the stuff of myth and rumor to them. So I wouldn't worry about encountering any battlemages here; you'll have a distinct at advantage in that department." She finshed, allowing the middle-aged commander to turn to Anslaf. "Let's go over the plan one more time."

Anslaf nodded, then pointed to the map. "After you make landfall at the island, I'll take a small emergency schooner with my men, and make my way to this town here." He pointed a dot on the map which read "Barrowton", which was at the beginning of a small river that led into the bay. "From there, I'll get directions to the capital of the North." He moved his finger up to a large dot marked 'Winterfell', which sat on a major road labeled 'The Kingsroad" and was placed a few hundred miles south of the Wall. "There, I'll make contact with the local ruler of that province, who may or may not help me out due to their proximity with their northern borders."

"A well-conceived plan, but why not just go to the capital directly?" Herman asked.

"Because from what I've heard about the capital, it's a rat's nest of corrupt politicians and spies, and a few might think we're here to add Westeros into the Empire. So if we're going to accomplish anything, we need to start at the bottom of the food chain and work our way up, and not bash our way in like a battering ram." Adler nodded. Decius was beginning to admire Anslaf, he had some basic grasp on military stratagems and understood the utmost importance of gathering timely intelligence.

"Do we know who rules the northern half of the kingdom?" Decius inquired. Erik answered for the Dragonborn. "A man named Eddard Stark. His line is an old one, apparently, stretching back for nearly eight thousand years, back when our ancestors were still clubbing seals in Atmora. He has a wife, Catelyn, and five legitimate children: Robb, his eldest and heir, Sansa, his first daughter, Arya, his second daughter, Brandon, his second son and fourth eldest, and Rickon, his youngest at six years."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Decius interrupted, not sure if he heard this right. "You said five _legitimate _children. Are you meaning to tell me he has a child born out of wedlock?"

Anslaf gazed back down at the map. "Eddard Stark does have one bastard son, a man named Jon, at seventeen years of age. Since he's illegitimate, he was forced to take the last name of Snow, since all bastard surnames are apparently geographical here."

"Interesting." Decius mused as he rubbed his moustache. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive."

"All right then. Gentlemen, I will await your signal, should it ever come to that. This meeting is adjorned." As they were leaving, Decius stopped the Dragonborn. "Your plan had better work." He simply said. The Dragonborn turned around, and gave a serious look.

"For all our sakes, I'm praying to every thrice-damned god there is it does."

* * *

**Two down, and a shitload more to go. Next up, we are going to finally see the Lord of Winterfell himself, and we can finally get this story really rolling. As it stands, Anslaf is gonna meet Eddard a few weeks before the canon events of AGOT/Season 1 kick off. Stay tuned.**


	4. Eddard I

**And here it is! We finally get to begin to see the GoT characters! And we are starting to get into the main part of the story. Will I keep Eddard alive? We'll see! (Evil cackling). Anyway, here is good old Ned Stark.**

* * *

Eddard I

21 Mid-Year 4E 204/298 AL: Winterfell, the North.

War was easier than raising daughters.

Case in point, right now, with one of Sansa's and Arya's typical arguments about the latter's wild behavior.

"Father, she hardly acts like a proper lady!" Sansa complained. Robb struggled to suppress a laugh, while his best friend and Ned's ward, Theon Greyjoy, let out a small chuckle in apparent amusement at Sansa's frustration with her sister.

"I'd rather be a wild one than act like my head's in the clouds all the time, thank you very much!" Arya retorted. Ned's wife, Catelyn, sighed and rubbed her temples. Ned wanted to laugh at his children's antics, but he at least needed to act the part of stern father.

"Enough, you two. Sansa, apologize to your sister. Arya, please actually attend your lessons with Septa Mordane, you might learn something in order to become the lady of a castle." He reprimanded

"But Father! I don't want to be a lady! I want to ride horses and fight and lead my own armies and…" Arya began to complain.

"Arya…" Ned began, raising his eyebrow to indicate that the conversation was over.

"Fine." Arya pouted, then scampered away. Sansa let out a small smile in apparent victory, then made her way gracefully back to the Septa's lessons. After she had exited the room, Ned let out a heavy sigh.

"What are we going to do with her?" Catelyn said, shaking her head.

"She has much of the wolf's blood in her, Cat. She's just like my sister, Lyanna, when she was her age." Immediately a flood of memories came rushing back to Ned, things he'd rather had forgotten, but couldn't. His father's and older brother's execution at the hands of Aerys Targaryen, the Rebellion, and Lyanna at the Tower of Joy, laying in a bed in a pool of her own blood, and her last, dying words. The words that continued to haunt him to this day.

"_Promise me, Ned."_

"That maybe so..." Cat continued, shaking Ned out of his flashback. "…but she still needs to learn how to be a proper lady." She said as Ser Rodrick came into the room.

"Lord Stark, Lady Catelyn." He spoke with his crisp accent, before walking over to Ned. "My Lord, you need to see this." He said, a sense of confusion in his voice.

"Rodrick, what is it?" Ned inquired, a little confused.

"A group of six and ten visitors, all well-armed. Some of them have armor that I've never even seen before. They request an audience with the Lord of Winterfell."

Ned paused for a moment, then nodded. "Very well." As he walked down to the castle's main gate, his head was swimming with questions. Who were these new people? What did they want with him? As he approached the gate to where the visitors were, he noticed some very odd quirks about these people. First off was the leader, who wore a black fur cloak and dressed from head to toe in strange, black armor decorated with the motif of a wolf on the chestpiece.

The irony of this man coming to the seat of the Direwolves didn't go unnoticed by Ned.

Next were his companions, who all had various cloaks on. Some were, big, strong men, tough looking and fierce, others looked like they might take every valuable in the keep and no one would notice them. There were a few women in his group, though, shockingly enough to Ned. One woman was dressed in robes underneath the cloak, not entirely un-similar to a Maester's, another was dressed in steel plate armor just like her companions, and the last woman, a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl that looked to be in her twenties, had light, hardened leather armor on, and had a look in her eyes that said that she wasn't afraid to kill.

A very odd group of people indeed.

Their leader stepped forward to greet Ned, who noticed that this man did not extend courtesies immediately as expected of anyone trained in court politics in Westeros.

"Are you Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North?" the man asked, a strange tilt in his accent.

So this man was a forienger. Question now was, where were they from?

"Aye, I am Lord Eddard." Ned replied, not really sure what to make of the man. "Might I ask who you are, my friend?"

"I wouldn't say were friends quite yet." The man joked, removing his helmet. Ned got a good look at him then. He had brown hair, much like Ned's own, but he had deep blue eyes, and the muscle build of a man who's fought long and hard. His beard was trimmed short, and his nose had a slight hump near the bridge.

"My name is Anslaf Delmar, Thane of Whiterun, and these are my counterparts. We are travelers from Tamriel, and seek an audience with you, my lord."

Well, that explained the foreign accents.

"What is it that you need?"

The man, Anslaf, looked around. "Is there somewhere we can talk privately? I'm new to this land, and I'm not entirely sure whom I can trust yet."

Ned nodded. "This way, to the library." As they turned to walk to the castle library, Ned turned back to his guests.

"We have plenty of room if you desire to stay here for a while. No harm will come to you here, we are good people."

With that Ned turned and walked with Anslaf to the library. Once inside the quiet room filled with various books and tomes, and only a sleeping old man behind the counter, Ned beckoned Anslaf to sit at one of the desks, who immediately obliged.

"Now, what is it that you wanted to ask?" Ned inquired of Anslaf, who sighed before responding.

"Well believe me, I wouldn't have come over three thousand miles on a ship if it wasn't important. And for me, 'important' usually means either a massive war is about to break out, or there is an enemy so powerful that they could wipe out all life on the planet." The man leaned closer, his face a stern mask.

"What do you know of the race called the Others?"

Ned shifted in his seat. "Demons of ice and death, as the stories go. They were the reason that our house founder, Bran the Builder, erected the Wall. But they've been extinct for thousands of years. Why are you asking?"

Anslaf's voice was low. "Because I'm here to tell you that they aren't gone, they've just been…recovering, for the lack of a better word. Waiting for the right moment to strike."

Ned couldn't believe it. The White Walkers of legend, returning? That was impossible.

"I'm sorry…" Ned began to forcibly laugh. "It's not that I don't want to believe you. But, I'd like to hear some conformation from my brother, Benjen, first. Please don't take it the wrong way, but I'd rather her it from someone I've known all my life, rather than a stranger that just showed up at my door."

Anslaf drew a deep breath. "No hard feelings. I'm sure your brother Benjen would confirm my story. Now, about the realm. What can you tell me about its leaders? The history of this place?"

So Ned began to tell this "Blackwolf", as his nickname was told to him, about the various Great Houses and regions. He told him about how the realm used to be divided into seven independent kingdoms, how Aegon Targaryen had swiftly conquered the continent with an army of just sixteen hundred men and, more importantly, three dragons. He told him of the Westerosi Peace, or the _Pax Westrosum_ as Anslaf translated into the Imperial Tongue. He told him about Aerys the Mad, and how Prince Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon's love for his sister had caused Robert's Rebellion, or the War of the Usurper, as it was called in the far southern region of Dorne. He told him who he should trust and who he should regard with suspicion, in particular the Lannisters, and anyone in King's Landing, for that matter.

"What are the Lannisters like?" Anslaf asked him

"You've got Tywin, the patriarch. Ruthless, cunning, and opportunistic. His idea of ending wars is to completely destroy your enemy, even women and children. Honor-less coward, that one. Next, you got Jaime and Cersei, his twin eldest children. Jaime is a Kingslayer, who violated his sacred duty to protect Aerys, and Cersei is a spiteful, cruel woman, who is fiercely protective of her children. And finally, you have Tyrion, the imp. He is a decent fellow, so I've heard, but he also likes to spend his time either drinking and whoring, something he and King Robert have in common, now, or reading. I'm willing to say that he probably knows a great deal about your homeland."

Anslaf got a good chuckle out of that. The Blackwolf then began to tell Ned about his homeland, what was happening between the Dominion and the Empire, the recently ended Skyrim Civil War, and his family.

"How did you meet your wife?" Ned asked him. Anslaf just shrugged nonchalantly and replied. "We'll that's a rather long, complicated, story that involves her psychopathic father and a group of crossbow wielding hunters. Another time, I'll tell you." The Blackwolf then promptly got up from the desk.

"Now, my friend. You haven't introduced me or my group to your family yet." He proclaimed.

Ned laughed "In good time, my friend. Come, tell you escorts to meet us inside the dining hall inside the keep."

Anslaf gave him a huge grin. "Perfect, then."

* * *

The feast was by no means huge or grand. Those were only thrown for visitors of importance, such as the King, or for special occasions, like one of the noble family members' nameday. That being said, it was a decent sized meal, with all of the Blackwolf's group and the Stark family attending. Currently, Anslaf was entertaining Arya and Bran of tales of his exploits, ranging from him single-handedly taking on fearsome dragons, engaging entire forts of bandits alone, and rescuing prisoners from evil elves. Robb and Theon were busy engaging in discussion about swordplay with Vladimir and Jordis. Rickon was happily eating, while Maester Luwin engaged in conversation with Colette about the various applications of magic in Tamriel, and asking if he could learn from her. And Jon…

Jon was sulking in a corner, eating his meal by himself.

Ned sighed, he knew why the boy did this; to avoid those nasty comments and stinging looks he got from Lady Catelyn. Jon may try to put up a tough exterior, but Ned knew that the boy had no mother figure in his life, and suffered for it so. It pained Ned greatly to see him like this. He walked over to the boy, despite some protests from Catelyn, and sat down by him.

"Why are you here, by yourself, and not with your family?" Ned asked him. Jon just looked up and nodded to where Catelyn was, still glaring at him.

"I don't belong here." Jon said, his voice full of sadness and loneliness.

"Yes, you do, Jon. You are of my blood, and these are your brothers and sisters. They all love you, especially Arya and Bran." Ned reassured, pointing to where everyone was sitting. It was at that moment that Anslaf got up out of his seat, and walked over to where Ned and Jon sat.

"So, this is Jon Snow, eh?" Anslaf asked. "How would you like to spar with me tomorrow?"

Jon shot his head up in surprise. "Wha-I mean, of course!"

"That's the spirit!" Anslaf patted him on the shoulder. "Come, sit with us. My men would love to hear more about you." Anslaf walked back to the table. Jon hesitated for a moment, then got up and walked to where the others were sitting, and immediately took part in conversation with Ansalf and Erik. Ned smiled, and walked back to Catelyn, to enjoy the rest of the evening with his family and guests.

* * *

**Next Chapter: We finally get into AGOT territory, with all the incest and douchbaggery that is sure to follow. Stay tuned.**


	5. Anslaf II

**We are finally getting into A Game of Thrones territory! Now, we finally get to see a little of that wretched hive of scum and villainy known as the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.**

* * *

**5 Sun's Height, 4E 204/298 AL: King's Landing, Crownlands.**

He coughed up a bit of flem, then laid back down on his bed. Grand Maester Pycelle gave him some medicine to ease the pain. The old man bowed slightly before King Robert, before shuffling out the door.

"How did this happen, old man?" Robert asked Jon Arryn, running his hand through his thick beard. Jon coarsely laughed, before coughing some more.

"Robert…" he wheezed in between breathes. Robert leaned in closer to what his old friend and mentor had to say next.

"The seed is strong, your grace. Remember that. The seed is…" Jon began to hack violently again, and Pycelle literally rushed into the room, a feat that the fat King had never seen before, in an attempt to settle the Hand down. Robert walked out of the bedroom, pondering what Jon Arryn meant by that.

An hour later, Pycelle reappeared, and walked over to the King.

"I'm sorry." The grand maester said, shaking his wrinkled head. "I did all that I could for our Lord Hand. He has passed on to the afterlife." The old man walked away, and Robert put his head in his hands. His mentor, the one who guided him throughout his life, who kept his nation together, was now dead.

_Now what?_

Robert needed a new Hand of the King, that much was clear, but who? Stannis? His ungrateful little brother fled when Jon fell ill. Renly? The boy, despite being his youngest brother, was an effeminate little fop, and he was pretty sure that the Tyrells were playing him like a lute. Tywin? As if he'd give the Lannisters more power than they already had, considering the Lion's daughter was his wife, and his son, Jaimie, was a Kingsguard.

No, there is only one person he could truly rely on. His only true brother.

"Grand Maester!" Robert bellowed, running up behind the startled old man, a considerable feat considering his weight.

"Send a message to Winterfell at once. Tell Ned Stark what's happened. And tell him to expect me up there within the month."

* * *

**Winterfell, two days later…**

Anslaf was in the castle courtyard with Bran, Robb, Theon, and Jon, teaching Bran how to shoot with a bow. Bran shot and missed, going high and hitting a tree behind the wall causing him to stomp his foot into the ground in frustration. Jon came up behind him and reassured him.

"Go on, Bran. Father's watching."

Ansalf glanced up at the balcony, along with Bran, and saw Lord and Lady Stark watching their son.

"And your mother, too." The Blackwolf said. Bran nodded and strung his bow, keeping his eye on the bullseye. He released, and missed again, this time hitting a barrel to the left of the target. Bran made a sour face while Theon, Jon, and Robb started to laugh, and Anslaf tried to suppress a giggle.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Ned reprimanded. The Lord of the North then looked to his third son. "Go on, Bran." Robb approached Bran, and instructed him. "Relax. Keep your bow arm steady." He said as the young boy readied his bow again. This time, the arrow hit dead center of the target.

But Bran didn't fire his bow at all.

Everyone quickly turned around and found the culprit; a grinning Arya, holding another bow and giving a small courtesy. Bran, now annoyed at this stealing of his 'kill', began to chase after his sister, with everyone now in a fit of laughter. It was at that moment that Anslaf saw Ned turn to talk to Rodrik Cassel for a moment, and then yelled down to the courtyard.

"Boys, get saddled up and ready to move out, you too, Bran." He commanded. He turned to Anslaf. "You should come, too, Thane Anslaf."

"Aye, my lord." Anslaf responded. As he went over to get to his horse, he noticed Catelyn silently glaring at Jon. He immediately rushed over to him.

"Come on, we don't want to linger here." He said, putting his hand on Jon's shoulder. Jon agreed, and left the courtyard with him.

* * *

About an hour later, the party meet at the predetermined spot, a small depression with a hilltop just to the northeast. In the middle of this depression was a chopping block made of stone. There were about twelve northern soldiers around, with one scared looking young man in black, as he obviously knew what was to come next. The soldiers brought him to the stone block, where Ned and the others were waiting.

"What's your name, son?" Ned asked the deserter, his expression one of weariness.

"Will, my lord." The Night's Watch deserter whimpered in fear, but not of Ned's greatsword, which Theon was carrying.

"I know I broke my oath, and that I'm now a deserter. I should've went back to warn them…" The black brother continued, still shaking. "But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers." Ned looked confused for a moment then nodded to the guardsmen, who pushed him down onto the block.

"Wait, my lord!" Anslaf called out to Eddard, wanting to hear what the Watchman had to say before he died. Anslaf knelt down to where the man's head was, and asked him, in his strictest voice possible.

"Now, I won't guarantee you'll be safe from execution. You did desert your friends on the Wall. But I need the absolute truth from you, and nothing but the truth. Did you see the Others?"

The watchman fearfully nodded. "What did they look like?" Anslaf pressed.

"Men, but their skin was a pale blue. They had weapons of ice, and nothing my comrades could do could kill them. And…and they raised the dead around them." Anslaf nodded, and walked away, his thoughts churning. He turned around in time to see the watchman apologize to Lord Eddard and ask if he could send his remains to his family in Torrhen's Square. Ned nodded, and drew his greatsword. Anslaf watched intently, never before watching something quite like this

_A noble performing his own executions? Not even my kinfolk are so bold._

"In the name of Robert, of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Lord Stark finished, then raised his greatsword, and decapitated Will in a swift, precise stroke. The blood gushed out of the stump for a little bit, then slowed to a trickle. Ned handed his greatsword back to Theon, and walked to where Bran was. They exchanged a few words, before Ned walked up to Anslaf.

"What did he say?" Ned asked, his face stern, but his eyes worried.

"He basically confirmed my story." Anslaf replied, his tone one of utmost seriousness. "And if your brother says he's seen these things too, we are going to have to talk to the King, see if he can't send any available men to the wall."

Ned opened his mouth somewhat, then nodded. "We better get back." He said as he turned to mount his horse.

A few miles down the road, they encountered a dead mule deer, which had been gutted by what seemed like a large predator of some kind. Anslaf was the first to get off his horse and inspect the dead stag more closely. He made note that one of its antlers had been torn off, and noticed a trail of blood leading down into a ravine.

"Mountain lion?" Theon asked, while Anslaf shook his head.

"A cat will always go for the neck first, and will drag off its kill to a safer area." He stated.

"Besides, mountain lions don't come this far north." Eddard added, following the blood trail into the ravine. Anslaf, Robb, Jon, Theon, and Bran followed him. When they reached the bottom, they encountered the culprit; a dead wolf.

A very large dead wolf, easily the size of a black bear, making it the biggest wolf Anslaf had ever seen.

"A direwolf!" Ned exclaimed, pulling out the stag's horn from the direwolf's neck.

"Your house's sigil?" Anslaf asked him, while Robb raised an eyebrow.

"There hasn't been a direwolf south of the Wall in over a hundred years!" Robb pointed out, as everyone heard a whining noise coming from the dead wolf's belly. When they went over to check it out, they discovered five direwolf pups, three weeks old, still trying to suckling milk from their now dead mother. As they picked up the pups, Bran got a curious look on his face.

"What will they do, now that their mother's gone?" Bran asked, with a hint of sadness in his voice. Ned sighed. "They won't last long in the wild. Better to make their deaths quick." At that, Theon began to draw his dagger.

"Give me the pup, Bran." He ordered the youth, who immediately shielded the pup he was holding.

"Theon, put it away!" Robb intervened, stepping in between Theon and Bran.

"I take orders from your father, not you!" Theon yelled, but not really doing anything against his friend.

"Lord Stark." Jon said, gaining the attention of the group. "There are five wolf pups, one for each of the Stark children." Anslaf couldn't help but grin; the boy had successfully diffused a potentially messy situation in just a few seconds.

_I had to yell at the top of my lungs to get Tullius and Ulfric to agree to peace, along with a whole bunch of other things._

He saw Ned chew over his thoughts, and then the Lord of Winterfell gave his sons a stern warning.

"You will feed them yourselves, you will take care of them yourselves, and if they should die, you will bury them yourselves."

With that, he turned to walk back to his horse. As everyone else followed him, Anslaf noticed Jon scoop down and pick something up off the ground. It was a sixth pup, with snow white fur and red eyes, almost making it appear like a vengeful ghost.

"Look, the runt of the litter!" Theon mocked. "That one's yours, Snow." Jon shot Theon a nasty look, and kept on walking with the pup in his arms. Anslaf laughed to himself a little and followed them back to the horses.

* * *

**One month later… 7 Last Seed.**

Ever since the raven arrived bearing the news of Jon Arryn's death and the King's arrival to Winterfell, the days have been nothing short of hectic, as everyone was busy preparing for a grand feast and dance, as the monarch was a lover of food, drink, and women aplenty. And it wasn't just the king that was coming either, he was coming down with his family and almost a hundred other people, including his firstborn son, Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon. Anslaf saw Bran climb off a tower wall, and ran excitedly to his mother.

"They're coming! I saw hundreds of horses and wagons!" Bran yelled excitedly, while Catelyn scowled.

"Brandon Stark, how many times must I tell you not to climb those towers?" she scolded, apparently signaling to Anslaf that the boy had done this thing quite a few times before hand. The youth looked down on the ground before mumbling an apology. Catelyn's face seemed to soften a bit, and she said she knew he was lying because he was looking at his feet, before telling him to run along. Anslaf walked over and started talking to Catelyn.

"I see he's as adventurous as ever." The Blackwolf pointed out. "And Summer seems to like him well enough." After the children had gotten their wolves, they had named them. Rickon named his black wolf Shaggydog, for he was young and wild. Arya had named her wolf Nymeria, after the warrior queen of Dorne. Sansa named her wolf Lady, for she seemed the best-behaved of the pups. Bran named his wolf Summer, for his copper colored coat. Robb named his pet direwolf Grey Wind, and Jon named his white wolf Ghost, for he liked to disappear and reappear at the oddest of times.

"His curiosity might get him killed one day." Cat sighed, turning to him. "I can't help but worry about his safety."

Anslaf laughed. "I'm sure he'll settle down when he gets into his teen years." He looked around. "Where is everyone else?" he asked.

"They're on their way now." She said, pointing to the crowd that was gathering near the gates. Anslaf turned and looked, and saw the Starks standing in front of everyone else. Anslaf also spotted his group right next to theirs, and so hurried off to join them. On the way he spotted a tiny form hiding in a cart with a northern helmet on.

"Hey." He whispered. "You'd better get back to your family, Arya." Arya turned and stuck her tongue out at him, then scampered off to join her family. Anslaf took his place next to Syrenne, who looked grumpy with a dress on, and Erik, who was exchanging the occasional glance with Sansa. A few minutes later, the gates opened, and the King's guards rode in. Half of them wore the black and yellow armor of his house, while the other half donned the crimson and gold armor of House Lannister. Seven of the guards wore white and gold, the Kingsguard. Next the Crown Prince and his bodyguard, a big man with a hounds helmet going by the name of Sandor Clegane, rode in along with the carriage carrying Queen Cersei and her younger children, Tommen and Myrcella, as well as the dwarf Tyrion Lannister. Finally, everyone around Anslaf bowed when the last man came in. He was a big, fat man, with a bushy beard and long, wild hair. His horse was panting from all the extra weight.

_Ah, so this must be King Robert, then. A little…rounder than what I expected_.

Anslaf did the same as everyone else and took a knee, but did not lower his head. He was intent on speaking to this man at the first available opportunity. The king walked over to Ned Stark, and beckoned everyone to rise.

"You've gotten fat." Robert pointed out to Ned, who just pointedly looked at the King's gut. The two just started to break out in a fit of laughter, and then Robert gave his old friend a hug. The King went over to Catelyn next, kissing her hand. "My Lady." He then turned to Robb. "You must be Ned's eldest. Tall, handsome, and just as stoic as your old man. I like you, lad."

"Thank you, your grace." Robb said as he slightly bowed before the King. The King then spoke to Arya, Sansa, and Bran, before turning back to Ned.

"Ned, let us go to the crypts. I wish to pay my respects." He said, looking past him into the tomb's entrance.

"Can't the dead wait, my love?" Cersei complained. "We've been travelling for a month, now."

"Ned." Robert ignored his wife and went with Ned into the crypts. All the Stark, Baratheon, and Lannister men started to talk to each other, and the Queen started to speak to Lady Catelyn and Sansa, while Joffrey decided that he wanted to spar against Robb, Jon, and Theon, causing Ser Rodrick to take them to the practice yard, while warning them all the way against using live swords.

"I don't like the looks of him." Erik said after a moment. Anslaf turned to his young protégé.

"Who?" the Blackwolf asked.

"The Crown Prince. He has 'spoiled smug prick' written all over his face." Erik stated, his disdain clear in his voice.

"Are you sure that's not your jealousy speaking?" Anslaf jested, giving his apprentice a slight elbow. Erik immediately blushed.

"N-no, I'm just concerned, that's all." Erik just stammered out, causing Anslaf to laugh at his embarrassment. "Look, I can tell you like the girl well enough. I see you and her exchanging glances and talking together all the time. Why don't you ask her if she feels the same way? I see no reason why Lord Stark would say no to a betrothal."

"Because the King most likely wants to wed his brat son to Lady Sansa." A voice called from behind them. Ansalf turned around and saw a tall, blonde knight approach them. He was wearing the armor of the Kingsguard, and had the look of a master swordsman.

"You know it's rude to butt into another man's conversation." Anslaf said, crossing his arms while taking his measure of the man.

"I realize that, but then again, when did I care what others thought?" He stated, smiling a smile that screamed to Anslaf as 'cocky ass son of a bitch'.

"You must be Jaime Lannister, then." Anslaf stated matter-of-factly. "I've heard many tales of your exploits."

"Did you, now? We'll, I'm quite flattered you seem to know everything about me, but what about you?" Jaime asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

"Anslaf Delmar, of Skyrim, but more in Tamriel know me as the Blackwolf." He said, deliberately leaving out being the Dragonborn.

"Tamriel, eh? Never been their myself but my father said most of what comes out of the mouths of Tamrielic sailors is complete rubbish, such as talk of dragons and vampires."

"Stranger things have happened." Anslaf chuckled. "You have heard, then, that things between the Empire and the Dominion are tense, to say the least."

"Indeed I have." Jaime said, then looked over his shoulder. "We'll, I enjoyed our little chat, but I'm afraid I must rescue my little brother from the voracious northern girls."

"Good luck with that." Anslaf said as Jaime turned away. He turned his head to his student. "Come, Erik, let's see how Robb's doing against the 'sweet' Prince." Both of them got a little chuckle out of that, then walked off in the direction of the practice yard.

* * *

After witnessing Joffrey get beat by nearly everyone with a blade, especially losing hard against Robb and Jon, and subsequently embarrassing himself with a temper tantrum which no one paid any attention to, Anslaf and Erik attended the grand feast that night, which was much bigger, and louder, than the one they had over a month ago. Syrenne was busy ignoring all the advances made on here from scores of drunk and horny men, while King Robert was having his fill of drink and women. Anslaf took a sip of his wine, when he noticed Eddard and a man in Night's Watch attire step over to him and Erik.

"Thane Delmar, this is my little brother, Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch." Ned said, introducing the man with him.

"An honor to meet you, Benjen. I'm truly sorry about Will." Anslaf said, shaking Benjen's hand.

"Aye. He was one of the finest soldiers I ever had, and one of our best trackers." Benjen stated, with genuine sadness in his grey eyes. Anslaf looked around, and then whispered to the both of them.

"Is there somewhere we can talk? In private?" He said, looking over where the Lannister men were seated. Benjen nodded, and the three stepped outside.

"Now, what is it do you need to say?" Benjen asked, crossing his arms. Anslaf sighed.

"What have you seen beyond the Wall?" He asked, his voice low.

Benjen shifted a little. "Entire villages of Wildings have been abandoned. We found several of them burning, destroyed, even. Many had the corpses of them arranged in some sort of weird pattern, and the bodies themselves vanish once we look the other way, like they just got up and walked off." Benjen shuddered a little, something that would cause concern to anyone who saw a veteran watchman quiver. "I saw things moving in the shadows up north of the Wall, too human-like to be animals. They moved quickly, though they made no attempt to attack me or my comrades. And there are reports of a truly massive force of wildings, two hundred thousand strong, at the least, under the command of Mance Ryder, gathering up for something." He paused. "Why do you ask?"

"Because those things you saw up north are exactly the same things Will encountered, and what I'm here to help stop." He said as Benjen's eyes grew wide in fear, and Ned looked grim.

"The Others have returned." Benjen realized.

"Yes. And they won't stop until the planet is under the thrall of their dark master, a demon whose name I shall not utter here, though we in Tamriel know this evil being well enough." Anslaf stated grimly. "You need to return to your brothers, and tell them they are coming. I will inform King Robert of this, and see how he reacts." He turned to Ned. "Lord Stark, you are his best friend, and soon to be Hand of the King, if you decide to accept. I'll need your help, even if that means Erik and myself ride with you to the capital." He looked at all of them, and drew a deep breath.

"Gentlemen, we have a lot to prepare for."

Ned nodded, and agreed with Anslaf.

"Aye. Winter is coming."

* * *

**And up next, Anslaf and Erik ride with the King's convoy to King's Landing, while Syrenne and the thieves ride ahead, as part of his plan. Meanwhile, things get hectic in Winterfell, and we are going to get around to whatever the hell Daenerys is doing in Essos. Eventually. Maybe. Oh, and Joffrey will be slapped around like the lil' bitch he is ^_^.**


	6. Erik I

Erik I

**8 Last Seed, Winterfell.**

It was a bad day in Winterfell.

Scratch that, it was a _terrible_ day in Winterfell.

It started when he was out walking along the castle grounds while Lord Stark, King Robert, and his master we're hunting when he discovered Bran unconscious lying down on the ground near the north tower. He had immediately picked him up and rushed him to Maester Luwin and Colette, with Bran's pet direwolf, Summer, running along beside him. Colette and Luwin had him rushed to the maester's solar, were they immediately began to work on Bran. Catelyn was hysterical, not wanting to leave her son alone, while Sansa fought back tears, Arya was gritting her teeth, Robb and Jon just stood and swore and cursed, and Rickon was crying his eyes out. An hour later, Ned came back after hearing the news of his son's fall, and immediately rushed to the solar, where he saw his son lying in a bed unconscious and let out a wail of despair, for at that time it was hard to tell if Bran was going to survive his coma.

Now Erik was outside the room, trying to comfort Sansa.

"I'm sure Bran will come through, Sansa. He's a strong young lad." He said, putting his hand on her back. She smiled sadly. "I certainly do hope so. Bran was going to come with us to King's Landing. He always wanted to be a knight." Fresh tears streamed down her face, which made him want to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright. But... with her engagement to the Prince…. It just wasn't possible. A few minutes later, Colette exited the room, and Ned and Catelyn rushed to her.

"Well?" Ned asked, his face one of desperate impatience. "How is my son?"

Colette met his haggard stare, and sighed. "Well, he's alive, and he will be able to walk again." Ned and Catelyn hugged each other.

"But." Colette continued. "He can't be mobile without the use of a cane, nor can he ever run again. I daresay that if I hadn't been here, the best case scenario would have been paralysis below the waist." Catelyn grabbed her in a hug, tears running down her face.

"Thank you, thank you!" she stammered out, at least glad that her boy would live. Everyone broke into smiles and sighs of relief, while Sansa gave Erik a brief hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, as she quickly rushed out the door to spread the happy news that her brother would live. Erick pressed his hand to his cheek in astonishment. His master came to sit by him, and slapped the youth on the back.

"So, don't have your eyes on her, eh?" he said in apparent amusement, a sly smile gracing his face. Erik quickly spun around and shot Anslaf a look.

"It's not like that! She's just a good friend, that's all." He said, not really believing the words that came out of his mouth.

"Yeah, sure." Anslaf snorted. "And I'm a flying purple mammoth who farts rainbows and shits sweetrolls."

"Alright, fine!" Erik said, throwing his hands up into the air in defeat. "Not like it matters, anyway. She's in love with the Prince, whom, may I remind you, is betrothed to her as of last night." He said bitterly, remembering seeing Joffrey's smug sneer thrown in his direction when the King announced it rather loudly.

"There are plenty of fish in the sea to choose from. You're young, you still have time to find the right one for you." Anslaf remarked, patting his apprentice's back.

"But what if I don't want another fish?" Erik asked a little angrily. His master just sighed.

"Look, when I was your age, I was smitten with a girl in Ivarstead named Aldi. She was a cute, petite blonde woman, and I thought she would be mine forever. Well, as it turned out, we grew apart over the years, and she ended up getting married to some mercenary from Whiterun. I ended up going alone, adventuring, selling my sword arm to whomever paid good, and then got caught in that ambush, a series of events turned into me slaying a demigod, and then going into that crypt and finding Serana."

"So what you're saying is that I have to go on some crazy adventure just to get hitched?" Erik asked, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Ansalf just laughed. "No, no! What I am saying is be patient." Ansalf then got up and went over to talk to Syrenne and the thieves, quietly instructing them to saddle up their horses and make for King's Landing immediately and quickly. Syrenne nodded and headed out to the stables.

An hour later, everyone who was going to the capital saddled up and left Winterfell, along with the party that was going to the Wall, including Jon, who had decided the night previously that he wanted to join the Night's Watch. Everyone had wished him the best of luck, and now he was talking to Ned about something, though Erik couldn't make out what it was due to them talking in hushed tones. Soon after, Jon departed with Benjen and Tyrion, and they headed on their way to Kings Landing.

* * *

**15 Last Seed, 4E 204/298 AL: Near Castle Darry, Riverlands**

"That fool of a drunkard! The Others are gathering up an army to march on his lands, and all he can think about is some deposed princess?" His master angrily exclaimed as they sat in their tent. The meeting between Anslaf and King Robert had gone less than perfectly, with Robert more or less focused on one Daenerys Targaryen and her husband, Khal Drogo, who lead forty thousand Dothraki warrior-nomads in Essos. Robert feared that her brother, Viserys, had struck a deal with Drogo, and would lead them across the Narrow Sea to take back the throne. Eddard and Anslaf had argued against this, retorting that the Dothraki lack ships and the stomach to cross the sea, and that Viserys was a fool, and the Dothraki dislike fools and incompetents. And when Anslaf tried to bring up the topic of the White Walkers to him, he dismissed it as Wildling tribal warfare, and mere myths. And so the meeting had ended with Anslaf excusing himself and walking back to their tent, where Erik was sitting, all the while gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

"He can't ignore the evidence for long. Sooner or later, he'll see for himself." Erik reasoned.

"A fat fool like him? I had better luck convincing Tullius and Ulfric of the threat posed by Alduin, and I thought they were the two most stubborn oafs I ever met." Anslaf griped, sitting down in a chair and reaching for a canteen on a nearby table.

"Well, I'm going to take a walk around the fort." Erik announced, getting on to his feet, and grabbing his dagger, while Anslaf just raised his canteen, indicating he was staying put. Erik opened the tent flap, and stepped outside, where he saw Stark, Lannister, and Baratheon guards all talking, making bets, taking shifts, and trading. He also noticed Sansa and her pet wolf, Lady, now grown to the size of a husky, walking around.

"My lady!" he said walking up. "Do you require an escort? It can still be dangerous out here." He exclaimed, immediately cursing himself for a stupid choice of words. Sansa just laughed a little. "I'm pretty sure I'll be fine, Ser Erik. Thank you for the offer, however." She said, flashing him the sweetest of smiles that made his heart skip a beat for just a second, forgetting to mention to her that he wasn't a knight. She turned to walk, and ran smack into a man neither of them had noticed. The man turned around, a permanent scowl etched onto his face. He lacked any hair, and he just grunted at Sansa.

"Oh, pardon me, ser. I didn't see you in the way." Sansa politely apologized to the man, who just grunted again and walked past her, as the Hound, Sandor Clegane, burned face and all, walked up to them.

"Does he frighten you, girl?" He rasped, and Erik couldn't tell if it was amusement or concern that was in his voice. "He frightens me, too. Hasn't talked much for the past twenty years, due to the Mad King ripping his tongue out." Now Erik saw that Sansa was getting a little uncomfortable with this man's presence, and tried to hide it the best she could. It was at that moment the last person in the entirety of Nirn that Erik wanted to see showed up.

"What's this?" Came the high-pitched voice from behind him, causing Erik to mentally faceplam. "Is the Hound bothering you my lady?" Joffrey Baratheon asked his betrothed, then turned to Sandor, and waved him away.

"Away with you, dog. I have no need for you at the moment." Joffrey commanded. Sandor slightly bowed, then walked away. Joffrey turned back to Sansa. "My apologies, my betrothed. The man you ran into earlier was Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice." When both Erik and Sansa gave the Prince slightly confused looks he clarified for them. "The royal executioner."

"Lovely." Erik stated sarcastically.

"Would my lady care for a walk?" Joffrey asked Sansa, occasionally glancing to Erik.

"Of course, my prince." Sansa said sweetly, her face blushing in excitement, which caused Erik to roll his eyes. He then thought of an idea.

"My prince, if I may be so bold, I would like to escort my lady. My mentor and I have sworn ourselves to the service of the Lord Hand, and he would be most displeased if anything were to happen either to his daughter or his son-in-law." He said, putting on his best poker face while trying to size up the prince's resolve. Joffrey glared at Erik, then relented.

"Fine, but you are here only to protect us. Nothing more." The crown prince warned. Erik just smiled and nodded, and the three walked toward the Ruby Ford, the site of Robert Baratheon's victory over Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. As soon as they stopped near the ford, Joffrey handed Sansa his canteen.

"You look thirsty. Here, have some of my wine." He said.

"Father will only allow us one cup." Sansa replied, looking down at her feet.

"Nonsense, you're my betrothed. A queen can drink as much wine as she wants." Joffrey insisted. Sansa let out a small smile and took the wine. It was at that moment what sounded like a fight came from the bushes a few meters to the right. They headed in the direction of the noise, with Erik and Sansa in tow. When they got to the source of the sound, they found Arya and the butcher's son, Mycah, playing with wooden sticks.

"Arya!" Sansa yelled, causing her little sister to jump and turn around, just as Mycah came in for a swing, hitting her in the arm.

"Ouch!" Arya complained, instinctively rubbing her arm. She then glared back at her sister. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Go away."

"Your sister?" Joffrey asked amusingly. Erik then noticed Joffrey turning his attention to Mycah. "And who are you, boy?"

"Mycah, milord." Mycah replied, dropping his stick, his face one of fear.

"He's the butcher's boy." Sansa pointed out insultingly, which Arya didn't take kindly too.

"He's my friend!" Arya retorted, fire in her grey eyes. Joffrey then adopted a dangerous tone, one Erik heard too many times from evil and demented men.

"So a butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, eh?" Joffrey mocked, his smile becoming predatory. He drew his sword, Lion's Tooth, his smile becoming more evil. "Pick up your sword, _butcher's boy_! Let's see how good you are!" He intoned, walking toward where Mycah stood.

"She asked me to, Milord! She asked me to!" Mycah panicked, his sweat dripping down in sheets now.

"I'm your _prince_, not a lord." Joffrey warned. "Now, pick up your sword!"

"It's just a stick, my prince!" Mycah begged, with Joffrey getting closer.

"And you're not a knight, just a butcher's boy." Joffrey mocked as he pressed his blade against Mycah's cheek. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you…much." He said sarcastically. Before Erik could do something about it, Arya took her stick, and slammed Joffrey across the back with it. That is when things _really _went downhill.

"You stupid bitch!" Joffrey screamed as he tried to eviscerate Arya with his sword. Sansa was yelling at the two to stop, though they paid her no heed, as Arya tripped and fell, with Joffrey scowling and pointing his blade at her. "I'll gut you for that, you filthy little cunt!"

Erik didn't remember rushing at him, he didn't remember tackling the Crown Prince to the ground in order to disarm him. What he did remember, though, was Joffrey's cries of pain as his shoulder was dislocated, and Erik took the sword away and pressed it against the young Baratheon's throat.

"Don't kill me!" Joffrey whimpered, in fear of Erik and the direwolf that had suddenly appeared, growling at him. Erik smirked. "Oh, quit your whining. I didn't hurt you…much." He then took the sword and chucked it into the river. He turned around and noticed Arya and her wolf had vanished, leaving a whimpering Joffrey and Sansa.

And she was glaring at _him_.

"Sansa…" He began, trying to explain why he did what he did, but she just huffed and walked back to her tent, tending to a still whining Joffrey all the way. Erik mentally cursed himself, not only was Arya now in danger, but now he lost his best chance to be with Sansa and, in his mentor's eyes, might have just compromised the mission. He then remembered that Arya and her wolf had run off, and so rushed off in the direction he had seen them run. Crashing through the underbrush and around the trees, he ran, calling out to the younger Stark daughter.

"Arya! Nymeria!" he called out, looking in every direction he could. He then noticed a tail sticking up out of a bush, and what he believed to be Arya's voice whispering to her direwolf.

"Arya!" he called. "It's me, Erik! It's going to be ok." He reached the brush, and found Arya looking up at him with palpable fear in her grey eyes.

"No it's not." She said. "They might hurt Nymeria, or you." She whispered, her voice full of dread. Erik knew of the Prince's now apparent ruthlessness, and was sure his mother wasn't much better than he was.

"Arya, my mentor and I swore an oath to protect your family, no matter the cost. Trust me, neither Joffrey nor his whore mother will lay a finger on you." He declared, offering his hand to Arya. Arya sniffled a bit, and took his hand, as they heard voices calling out for her. He lead the Stark girl and her direwolf back through the forest to the castle, by then it was getting dark, and they were confronted by a very worried looking Eddard.

"Arya, you're safe!" he exclaimed, pulling his youngest daughter in a tight hug. He then put Arya down and clasped Erik's hand. "I cannot thank you enough for saving my daughter."

"I was just doing what was doing what was expected of me." Erik replied. It was at that moment that Ned's captain of the guard, Jory Cassel, son of Rodrick Cassel, came over to them, a grim expression on his face.

"Forgive me my lord, but the king has requested your presence in the keep." He looked at Erik. "He has requested your presence, and the Stark girls, as well."

"What did he say?" Ned asked, apprehension lacing his voice.

"He wants the girls and Erik here to recount their version of the events at the ford today, my lord

Everyone moved into the keep, which was not meant to hold anything beyond its normal garrison. King Robert was sitting on a makeshift throne, with his wife and son standing next to him. Erik was trying not to laugh as he spotted Joffrey's sling, and the crown prince scowled at him. He stopped trying to laugh, however, when he caught his mentor glaring at him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ned angrily asked the King.

"Your daughter and her guard savaged my son!" The Queen answered for her husband, wrath and smugness both dancing in her emerald green eyes. "Ambushed him while he wasn't looking."

"He did no such thing!" Arya yelled, drawing everyone's eyes to her. "He defended me and Mycah from the prince. He was hurting my friend and tried to kill me."

"Liar." Joffrey yelled. Before Erik could answer, however, his father yelled at the top of his lungs.

"SEVEN HELLS! She tells me one thing, he another! What am I to make of this?" He turned his gaze to Erik. "Boy, what happened? And don't you even think about lying to me either!" He commanded. Erik cleared his throat, stood his ground, and began to speak.

"Your grace, I was escorting my Lady Sansa and her betrothed through the woods near the river. We happened upon Lady Arya and her friend around a half hour into our trek. The prince drew his sword, and challenged Mycah to a duel, who respectfully refused, as was his right. The prince here, then began to threaten the butcher's son, and started to cut his cheek open. Arya decided to defend her friend, and hit your son across the small of the back. He grew enraged, and started to swing his sword at Arya, intent on killing her." He paused his story, and looked back at his master, who nodded at him. He turned his head back to the king. "I swore an oath to Lord Stark, as did my mentor, to protect his family, no matter what the cost. I ran at the prince, and tackled him to the ground. That's how his shoulder was dislocated. I threw his sword in the river, and began to search for Arya. Punish me, if you must, your grace, but spare Arya and her wolf, they did no wrong." He finished. He gauged the king's face for a reaction. The fat old man turned to his son, disappointment in his eyes.

"You let a little girl and her bodyguard disarm you, all because you were stupid enough to go looking for a fight where there was none to be had?" Joffrey looked crestfallen at his father's biting words, while Cersei scowled at her husband.

"Don't speak to our son that way, _Robert_!" she spat, the venom clearly evident in her voice.

"Watch that tongue of yours, woman!" Robert spat back, no love in his voice for his wife. It was at that moment that Sansa took a place by Erik, a blank expression on her face.

"Hey." He began, trying to apologize for what happened at the Ruby Ford. "I'm sorry for what I did back there. I was just trying to protect your sister." Sansa, however, paid him no heed, and just looked the other way.

_She hasn't forgiven me for the incident_. Erik thought sourly.

"That man needs to be punished!" Cersei nearly screeched, obviously enraged at the mere thought that her 'precious little angel' had been hurt.

"That's quite fucking enough out of you!" Robert yelled, causing the Queen to immediately shut up. "Fine! Ned, you discipline your child, I'll do the same with mine, and Anslaf, please refrain your ward from trying to kill my heir. We're done." Robert got up and started to walk out, but Cersei wasn't quite finished yet.

"And what of the direwolf, the one that threatened our son?" She asked, a dangerous smile starting to play at her lips. Robert sighed, and muttered to himself. "Forgot about the damned wolf." He turned to Ned, who was realizing, with horror written on his face, what the Queen intended for Nymeria.

"Robert, you can't do this!" Ned insisted to his friend, who just looked at him with defeated eyes.

"It's a direwolf Ned, not a pet. Get her a dog." He said, shoving his way past. Now both Arya and Sansa were in tears, begging the Queen to spare Nymeria, but to no avail. Erik's blood was now absolutely boiling, seeing the smug smiles of Cersei and Joffrey, both of them delighted to seemingly cause pain to whom they considered to be their enemies.

"Is this your command…_your grace?_" Ned asked the king, who ignored him and exited the keep. Erik excused himself, as he heard Ned arguing with the Queen. He exited the building, and saw the Hound riding his horse, carrying a bruised and bloody corpse.

It was Mycah.

"You rode him down?" He asked angrily, wanting to draw his claymore right then and there and strike the burned man down.

"He ran." The Hound said emotionlessly. "But not very fast." Erik then slammed his dagger down on the ground, and sat, the cool night breeze no comfort to the burning rage in his heart. A whining sound drew his attention to the edge of the forest. Curiosity took hold of him, and he traced the source of the sound back to its owner; a small wolf, its throat torn open by a large branch. As it breathed its last, ragged breathe, an Idea came over the young Nord. One that might spare Arya of her pet's death and hopefully fool the queen. He picked up the dead wolf, and walked to where Lord Stark was, sharpening his dagger for the grim purpose at hand. This gamble had to pay off.

* * *

**Eh, sorry that took so long for me to update. I'm busy trying to find work right now, and trying to get my back fixed, and ugh! In other news, Game of Thrones Season 4 is out, and phenomenal as ever, despite the one or two changes from the storyline in A Storm of Swords. Especially liked the second episode, for obvious reasons. Up next, Winterfell gets a surprise visitor, Ned begins his first day in the City of Backstabbers, and a certain dwarf gets caught. Toodles!**


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